Fixing Destinies
by Samara88
Summary: 2025. Kurt and Dave meet again in New York after 10 years of going separate ways. Will destiny bring them back to each other? Undoubtedly! But with a little unexpected help. Slight AU because Finn is alive. M for later chapters.
1. Chapter 1

**PROLOGUE**

Kurt took off his sunglasses, taking a quick look at his wristwatch, a Gucci G-Timeless given to him by Blaine for their third anniversary. He realized he was fifteen minutes earlier for his appointment with Madeleine Moreau, Vogue NY's latest asset for fashion editing. He had last seen her two months before, at the end of September, excited and a little scared for her first time at Paris Fashion Week, where she would interview Anok Yai, named model of the year and Prada's muse.

Kurt and Madeleine became friends thanks to their passion for fashion, and Kurt had been her admirer before he was a colleague, when he happened to come across "Drops of fashion", the independent blog run by Madeleine. It was Kurt who advised Isabelle to offer her a job.

After Maddie's departure for Paris, Kurt had received several photos of the various runways from her, and video calls where she showed him every angle of the Eiffel Tower.

He crossed the threshold of the _Sea Pearl_, checking the half-empty tables with a half smile. In his haste, he had forgotten to reserve a table.

He didn't mind the atmosphere of the place, although he'd only been there two or three times. The pastel shades of the tablecloths and the bar counter were delicately matched to those of the dark gray walls, creating a play of subtle and innovative nuances. It had looked like a luxury ship's interior, but with a rustic touch given by the decorations: a rudder, the model of a pirate ship, a fishing net embellished with silhouettes of fish and starfish. Kurt loved the beauty, the fusion of colors, and his work at Vogue had only increased this predisposition.

He was greeted by a waiter in his twenties, or younger, with a dazzling smile. He had rather long ash-blond hair, that brushed his shoulders, and green eyes. "Can I help you?" He asked, with a slight southern accent. Kurt nodded, looking narrowingly to read the name of the label printed on the boy's uniform. "Yes, thank you ... James. I'm waiting for a friend."

With a nod, James invited Kurt to follow him. "No problem. I can accommodate you. Can I bring something to drink while waiting?"

"A Diet Coke. Thank you very much," Kurt replied, using a friendly tone. The boy reminded him of the brief period in which he had worked at the Lima Bean, after finishing high school. He still seemed awkward, inexperienced, perhaps shy.

Kurt chose the table by the window with a view of the main road, rather than the one suggested by James, next to the large aquarium where he caught a glimpse of two tropical fishes with red and blue fins playing - or fighting - surrounded by so many smaller, less flashy fishes.

Kurt preferred to get lost in the images of traffic and the sound of the car hornes, muffled by the indoors, made even more enjoyable by the notes of a classical low-volume symphony played in the restaurant. He sipped his Diet Coke, admiring the multitude of people and lives that intertwined among those skyscrapers and racing cars. He saw an elderly woman with a Chihuahua in her arms get out of a taxi, bumped and apologized by a tattooed teenager with a thick mass of green hair. A tramp, wearing a coat too light for the cold weather of those days, was sitting on the side of the road and asking for handout, when a woman with a stroller stopped beside him, offering a donut.

If he concentrated enough, Kurt could hear their thoughts: a whirl of voices, worries and excitement that were lost in the air.

Lima, where he was born and raised, was an anonymous town of identical houses and long lawns, freshly painted fences and homemade blueberry pies. Kurt had learned to respect it, and sometimes, nestled between the sheets of his Manhattan apartment, he felt a slight nostalgia for the place he had seen his uniqueness grow towards the smell of gasoline and engines that permeated his father's workshop , towards the family dinners, Carol's warm smiles and skirmishes with Finn, who always forgot to make the bed. Although Kurt had learned to love the simplicity of Lima, he also knew that New York was part of him, as if the very essence of the city ran through his veins. He loved the smells, the deafening noises, the faces that described a thousand colors and cultures, the walks through Central Park, Broadway and that world of paiette and dreams, an unattainable destination for young boys who, like him, knew they were more than their already written existences.

"Kurt?" A female voice, warm and harmonious, interrupted that vortex of thoughts, that nostalgia of past reminiscences, and Kurt smiled back at a beautiful girl with long red hair, with a blue parisienne-style beret and face covered in freckles.

He stood up quickly, giving Madeleine a brief hug. She dropped three massive folders on the table and a few spreads of notes. "I have so much to tell you, Kurt. It was incredible," She exclaimed with that blazing light in her eyes that Kurt loved so much. He sat in front of him, looking for the waiter. "But first I want to eat something. I heard that in this place they make a fantastic Creme Brulèe."

Kurt couldn't hold back a laugh. "It's like you never left Paris, right?" Madeleine winked at him. "Once you've been to Paris, you never leave it. One day you'll understand it too."

James approached their table, his forehead slightly sweaty. "Can I help you?"

Madeleine swirled a lock of hair between her fingers, and used a persuasive tone. "Two menus and a soda. Thanks."

When James left, Maddie barely laughed. "Cute," she said in a low voice. Kurt rolled his eyes. He had missed her innocent way of flirting.

* * *

When Dave stepped into the kitchen, he found himself in the arms of a short, olive-skinned man huddled around his neck before he could even begin the speech he had prepared, where he apologized for his long absence.

"Diego!" Dave returned the hug, heartened by his friend's - restaurant's chef - spontaneous reaction.

He knew they were all happy to see him, but he couldn't shake off that annoying sense of guilt due to his long absence.

"I missed you, Karofsky," said cheerfully Robert McHale, sou-chef, behind them, with the apron, stained by rocket salad sauce used to prepare the most famous salmon dish in the restaurant. Rob raised his thumb on his right hand, laughing at the emotional reaction of Diego and Dave, who had shining eyes, although he tried to hide it by covering his face with the other man's shoulder.

Robert hit Diego's shoulder. "A little dignity, Fernandéz, or I'll begin to think you have a crush on Dave." The three men laughed, and Diego shook his head. "You are the usual insensitive. It seems like a lifetime has passed since I last saw David."

There was a few seconds of awkward silence, and Dave, assailed again by guilt and memories that he wanted to bury forever, bit his lip, and looked down.

Dave had met Diego in a bar in Brooklyn, years before. He had started a story that lasted a few months with the bartender in that place, and he had exchanged a beer with Diego on one of those nights when he had waited for the guy's turn to end. A spontaneous friendship was born, one of those destined to last. Dave had started attending the Italian restaurant where Diego worked at the time, and the two often spent their evenings in each other's company. Sometimes Diego had vice of perfectionism, but it was what made his dishes works of art.

Dave liked that part of him that loved to take care of people, that sense of positivity that emanated his being and that affection, almost fraternal, that sprang from every gesture, from his every word. Diego never forgot a birthday, he always looked for the good side of situations and loved children and birdwatching. After the birth of his daughter Lucìa, of whom Dave had become godfather, Diego had given way to the boy who was still inside him, and often he liked to entertain Lucìa's little friends by creating dishes with the shapes of animals, hearts, and cars.

During his free days he distributed meals to the homeless, and for some years he had distance-adopted three siblings who lived in the Congo, and of whom he proudly exhibited the photos. Dave was sure that in his life, Diego had never hated anyone, and he just had that innate way to please anyone he met.

In the last nine months that Dave passed in Lima, Diego and Rob had maintained contact with him and called him regularly. Thanks to their stubbornness, Dave had never forgotten he had friends, people who cared enough for him to contact him just to know if he had eaten, or if he had left home. These nine months had been too much like a prison, from which he was coming out with his willpower and with the knowledge of having a place to return to and a family, albeit without blood ties, that would have waited for him with open arms.

Diego caught his eye, and Dave mirrored his eyes in his dark ones. He had a thick black hair, sprouted with gray, that hopeful look of one who was still a boy in the heart and the round face, with a slight hint of beard. Diego's wife had confided to him that she had fallen in love with the dimples that appeared on his cheeks with every smile, and with his long eyelashes and full lips. He was shorter than Dave, and seemed much younger than his forty-two.

"It's over, Dave. Now you're back," he told him with an affectionate expression. Rob nodded, "And you won't leave soon," he sentenced. "Yes, it's a threat." Both of them laughed, as if nothing had ever happened, and Dave's guilt dissipated like mist in the sun.

"Yes, I'm back," he proclaimed proudly, pushing away the doubts that were bugging him days before he returned.

Unlike Diego, Rob was very tall and slender, almost Nordic with his blond hair and gray eyes. Dave had met him at the university, where they both played on the same football team. Robert was the typical, somewhat immature boy who loved to surround himself with girls, but who couldn't really fall in love with any of them. He preferred to share a few laughs with a friend, rather than behaving like a knight, and really courting a woman. Rob reminded Dave of Azimio or Puck - two of the boys on the same football team in high school to whom he was particularly attached - but Rob had grown up in a family of two mothers, and because of this coming out to him turned out to be simple, and ended up celebrating with some drinks.

Rob instructed one of the new boys to cut tomatoes for mussel soup, while Diego accompanied Dave down the kitchen, where he briefly greeted two colleagues, intent on filleting salmon and stirring a mixture of vegetables respectively.

"I can't wait to tell my wife about your return. She was very worried," said Diego, and Dave blushed, remembering the pink cards, sprinkled with perfume, sent weekly by Gloria to his house in Lima "Thank her for the support, and tell her I can't wait to see her." Diego nodded, when a tall woman of color and clearly pregnant approached them.

"Suzanne," Dave exclaimed, embracing the woman with apprehension, given the considerable size of her stomach. "I'm so happy to see you. I heard it's a girl. "

Suzanne giggled, touching her belly with a hand. "Her name is Naja. She will be born in January. "

Dave had never seen her more beautiful and radiant, and this warmed his heart knowing that happiness was possible, despite the world was filled with hatred, violence and chaos.

He hoped one day to find the same serenity as Suzanne, and this thought made him smile to himself, with a slight melancholy. For the past few months it had been too difficult for him to think of the future.

Diego moved away from them to check on the fish, leaving him alone with Suzanne.

She - a head manager for two years - grabbed him by the arm. She was trustworthy and incredibly self-confident. "I'm really happy to see you, Dave. I have so many things to tell you." They stepped outside the kitchen, where Dave stared for a moment at the wooden rudder that adorned the room, just above the aquarium.

He admired the old furrows of the wood, which he had once traced with his fingers, and the white contours. The olden smell of a little-frequented store on a small street in Stockholm. Dave stopped those thoughts, knowing that they would lead him into a dark tunnel of regrets and nostalgia.

"I heard the new waiter - James? - started working last month. What do you think of him?" he asked, trying to redirect the flow of his thoughts. James was only nineteen, and Dave had only seen him through his CV photo. He had worked as a waiter in a pizzeria, but had no experience in mid-high level restaurants.

"He's still shy, but I think he's learning fast. He strives a lot, and is good with customers."

Dave nodded. "I'm happy to hear you say that." He trusted Suzanne's judgment. She was the kind of person who didn't like to embellish the truth, or please others.

They approached the counter, the chatter of customers rang in Dave's ears like a melody he hadn't listened to in a long time. Suzanne opened a drawer, and grabbed a black notebook. She opened one of the last pages, drawing asterisks with a pencil next to the most important events. Dave focused his attention on Suzanne's orderly writing.

"Marco will join us tonight, and will remain until I return. I left a list for him. On Sunday, at 9pm, the upstairs room is booked for that company dinner I told you on the phone. On Saturday, Mr. Huang booked the room for his daughter's eighteenth birthday, and the guest list should come soon. Check the emails. Also mrs Pierce-Lopez wants to know if we agree to the catering service. "

Dave felt a surge of pride, thinking of Brittany's path, and where it had taken her. "Of course, we agree. I'll call her as soon as I can."

They were interrupted by a breathless James, who was heading towards the kitchen. Dave stopped him with ahand. "Is everything all right?" asked "Dave Karofsky," He held out his hand to the boy, introducing himself. "I am the owner of the _Sea Pearl_." The boy went straight, trying to look professional. He squeezed Dave's extended hand. "James Callaghan. Thank you for the opportunity, Mr. Katofsky. I need five menus. Two for table twelve, and three for table seventeen.

"Dave smiled reassuringly. Instantly, he liked that kid.

"Call me Dave," he asserted. "Why don't you take a ten minute break? I'll take care of the menus."

Dave arranged the sleeves of the shirt he was wearing, turning them just above the elbows, and put on an apron. For the first time, after nine months, he felt full, and ready to start again.

* * *

Kurt marked part of Maddie's material with a red pen. She had a rather messy handwriting, the words too close to each other, but to which Kurt was now accustomed. "This part has to be reviewed, but I prefer to show it to Isabelle, to have a confirmation."

Madeleine sipped some of her soda. "I still need to get Anok's approval for the interview. It should be up to days." She opened her handbag and took the latest model iPhone from it's back pocket. It had the same cover as Dolce & Gabbana that they had reviewed in the latest issue of Vogue.

She showed Kurt a photo of her, arms around the waist of Anok Yai, who wore a tight black leather dress. Maddie, more pale with her light skin and her pastel makeup, wore a long blue dress, her hair tied in a chignon. She smiled at the camera like a groupie at the concert of her favorite band.

"Anok is fantastic, Kurt," she said enthusiastically, punctuating the words. "Not only is she extremely intelligent, but I love her sense of humor. In the end we talked about basketball. Did you know she was part of a team before she became a model?"

Kurt looked at her with the air of someone who knew very well what was going on. "Another crush, Maddie?"

She rolled her eyes, and drew a long dreamy sigh. "You too would have a crush on her."

"In middle school I had a crush on Kristin Chenoweth, so anything is possible." The atmosphere was friendly, more like a meeting of two old friends, rather than a business lunch. Madeleine radiated joy and happiness, with a tinge of self-centeredness that reminded him of Rachel Berry, his best friend since his school days, from which, however, he had drifted apart in recent years.

Kurt felt comfortable with Maddie, as if they had known each other forever.

"Hello," a male voice interrupted. "I brought two menus." Kurt turned, and at a second glance recognized David Karofsky.

The boy who had made life in high school impossible for him, but with whom he had established a relationship similar to a friendship, just before graduation. He hadn't seen him for ten years, more precisely after his marriage to Blaine.

He gasped, unable to find the words, in shock.

"David?" He asked, his tone louder than normal. He had to remind himself that he was no longer in Lima, but in the middle of New York. Dave was motionless, with the menus in his hands, just as surprised as Kurt was. His face looked thinner, more mature, and he had a longer haircut than Kurt remembered. "What a surprise," he said, using an embarrassed smile.

Maddie stared at Kurt, and then turned to Dave. "Do you know each other?"

Kurt replied blushing. "We attended the same high school."

Dave nodded, and put the menus on the table. Madeleine took one, and looked through it absently. "Yeah," Dave continued. "It's been a long time." He stretched the apron, and hoped he wouldn't make a bad impression after all those years.

"Oh, another guy from Ohio. How small the world is," laughed Maddie, unaware of the rather complicated situation between the two. "An octopus salad, and a creme bruléè."

"All the same to me," Kurt said, not looking at the menu, then cleared his throat. "Have you been working here for a long time?"

Dave noticed Kurt's green-tinged blue eyes, detail he had almost forgotten. His heart stopped in his chest. He didn't expect that question, and was taken aback.

"The place is mine, but I try to help." He ran a hand through his hair, still a little awkward, pleasantly impressed by Kurt's reaction. He tried to give himself an attitude, remembering that he was no longer a boy.

"In-incredible," said Kurt.

To avoid the discomfort, and a silence that would have been somewhat mortifying, Dave grabbed the menus again. "I'll give your orders to the kitchen immediately," he said, and added, with a quieter tone, "I'm happy to see you again, Kurt."

"Me too," the other replied, but Dave had already left.

Maddie looked at him quizzically, her eyebrows raised. "Your ex-boyfriend?" As in a movie, Kurt felt his breath leave him, and coughed, as if something had stuck in his throat. He spent whole few minutes denying with perhaps too much conviction.

* * *

Dave sat back down at the counter, looking briefly at a mother who held the hand of a little girl a few years old, headed for the bathroom. He lost himself in the sound of those steps, and was interrupted at the sight of James walking away from the kitchen, with two fish fry dishes. His mind was carried away by that buzz, plunging him into past memories now set aside in a dark corner of his memory. He saw the terrified and angry sixteen-year-old Dave push Kurt against McKinley's lockers, hoping that the rejection and violence would kill those strange desires he was slowly beginning to understand. Kurt's face had brought to the light those conflicting feelings of love-hate he had during the most delicate years of his life, and Dave felt a sense of slight confusion, however, matched by a surge of excitement and shyness that he thought he had left behind once entered adulthood. It was a feeling of almost childlike tenderness, but with dark colors. A first tormented love, the one he now rarely thought of, but which marked, with it's bitterness, many of the most important stages of his life.

The last memory that Dave kept of Kurt Hummel dated back at least to ten years before, and that face, which he remembered so clearly, still possessed a fresh youthful delicacy, enriched however by a certain maturity and refinement that Kurt had surely acquired during his life in New York.

A part of him, meeting Kurt again, immediately felt the desire to receive his approval, although his rational part showed him mercilessly the absurdity of those thoughts. It was a necessity he had no control over, like hunger or sleep. It was childish, irrational, almost comical, but he couldn't pretend that need for Kurt's acceptance was gone. The delicate period he was experiencing had certainly reopened many wounds, making him more susceptible and leaving room for his inherent sensitivity, at the mercy of old guilt feelings and emotions difficult to manage. Dave cursed that mental passivity, and that inert way of following his heart instead of his head.

Had he met Kurt months earlier, his reaction would have been different, more normal, surprised, and less focused on memories and mistakes that he couldn't change.

He knew that Blaine had married Kurt in an impromptu wedding during Brittany and Santana's one, even though the details of that affair were unknown to him. He had never asked too many questions, and although he considered their decision rather hasty, he had sent congratulations to Blaine, hoping for the two of them to have a happy future. After the mistakes of his adolescence, for which he had never stopped feeling guilty, he had learned to live his life without resentment, so that he could look in the mirror and see a person to be proud of. He owed it to his father, he owed it to Kurt, and above all he owed it to himself.

He hoped that the Kurt he had seen, sitting at the table in front of that red-haired girl, was happy, satisfied, and that he was appreciated for his uniqueness, unlike the boy from Lima whom Dave remembered, and to whom he had made the life impossible.

Suzanne, wearing a long coat and winter gloves, interrupted her journey through memories, putting her hand on his shoulder. "I hope to see you at the _Mystic Lion_ tomorrow night, otherwise this could turn out to be a tearful goodbye." Dave turned to her tall figure and her thick black curls. On her shoulder she held a small white backpack with the lotus flower keychain.

"Is everything all right, Dave?" She asked worriedly, bringing her face closer to his. "Looks like you just saw a ghost." Her skin smelled of lavender, evoking a familiar and nostalgic feelings in Dave.

"Just an old friend from high school," he replied, erasing from his face the shadow of concern that made him look hurt.

To avoid further explanation, he stood up and grabbed Suzanne in a friendly hug. "I don't think I can come tomorrow night. I have to clear the apartment, and will be exhausted once everything is finished. "

Suzanne crossed her arms over her chest. "That's why you should come. What you need friends for if not to cheer you up? "

He shrugged. "At least you won't be jealous of me during the toast."

She laughed, but shook her head. "You're always the same," she said. "I'll wait for you anyway, and I think Rob and Diego will try to force you." She hugged him again, fleetingly. "Don't disappear, okay? You are a friend, part of my life, and I want you to be part of Naja's life too. So try to stay put."

Dave nodded, overwhelmed by Suzanne's sincere face and the new life that was growing in her. That child who would soon see the world for the first time, and for whom he already felt a strong affection.

"I expect to receive at least fifty photos, you know that, right?"

Suzanne looked at him with amusement. "Oh, you will get tired of seeing her adorable little face before she is one month old."

* * *

Kurt stopped Maddie, taking out his wallet from his Louis Vuitton handbag "Don't even think about it. I invited you." She started to argue, but Kurt silenced her with a hasty gesture. Madeleine pretended to be pouting, and her face took on that slightly childish air that seemed to enchant every man - or woman - who met her.

"Next time you'll thank me with a slice of cheesecake," he told her, when his eyes met Dave's, who responded to the friendly greeting of a pregnant woman who was about to leave the restaurant. He had gained confidence, and Kurt could feel it at a glance.

Dave smiled at him with a nod. There was still a certain shyness in his gaze, though masked by more determined attitudes and a smile devoid of the shadows that haunted him during his early youth.

"Wait for me here," he said, turning to Maddie, without looking her in the eye. He didn't wait for the answer, and went over to Dave, barely avoiding a confrontation with an elderly gentleman, whom he hadn't noticed. His confident expression turned into a slight blush of embarrassment.

"You should be careful where you put your feet," Dave told him with mock reproach, looking for some semblance of complicity. Kurt hoped with all his heart to avoid an embarrassing silence, which is why he smiled at Dave's comment, chasing away the latent discomfort that wanted him to shut himself in.

"I think meeting you surprised me more than I thought. I never imagined you would move to New York."

Dave breathed a sigh of relief, conscious of having avoided a potentially unpleasant situation.

He checked Kurt's bill total, tapping the keys on a cash register. Usually it was Suzanne's job, but Dave had always loved the perfect logic of numbers and equations, so accounting relaxed him.

"I'm still a boy from Lima, deep down. It was an adventure, but I wouldn't change anything." He smiled absently, perhaps losing himself in a pleasant memory. "If someone would've told me years ago that I would move to New York, I would have thought they were crazy, and I would have started to laugh."

Kurt saw Dave looking around with a light of pride in his eyes, as if admiring the place for the first time. He could feel the strong emotional bond that connected him to that place.

"I've been here two or three times, but I've never seen you," Kurt said.

The instant he spoke those words, Kurt saw Dave's face darken, and he cursed himself for saying them. Dave cleared his throat, avoiding Kurt's blue eyes. "I've been away for a while," he sentenced, without going into it. He handed Kurt the receipt, staging a smile that seemed to have lost the naturalness of a few seconds before. "It's thirty-two dollars. Desserts are an offer from the house."

Kurt gave a quick glance, nodding. "Thank you," he said, handing over the banknotes.

The awkward silence they were both afraid of began to appear. Dave bit his lip, and Kurt tried to avoid a direct look.

Dave thought about asking Kurt some frivolous questions, or having some news of Blaine, but the other guy anticipated him, handing a card of a dull and pearly color, with _Kurt Hummel_ on it written in elegant italics. Dave took a few seconds to test the texture between his fingers.

"Vice Director of Fashion Market at Vogue. Impressive." He held back a smile, and hastily wrote his phone number on one of the _Sea Pearl_'s business cards - _"Dave K."_

He handed it to Kurt, who put it in his wallet. "Oh please, David. You bought a restaurant in New York. I should be the one impressed. "

Dave couldn't hold back an affectionate laugh, perhaps a little nostalgic. Kurt and his father were the only ones to call him David. "It's a nice compliment from you."

Kurt found himself pleasantly struck by that new positivity that seemed to radiate from Dave's face. He was sure that in the right situation, putting aside the past, they could be friends.

"Well deserved compliment," he replied.

Shortly after, he found himself giving a quick glance at his watch, and turned around with a sorry look at Maddie, who was waiting for him standing at the entrance of the restaurant. "I'm in a little hurry right now, but it would be nice to see each other for coffee."

Dave nodded, perhaps with too much excitement. "Great," he said. "I would like that very much."

Kurt offered his hand, and appreciated the other man's firm grip. "It was a pleasure to see you again," he said, before saying goodbye and heading towards Maddie.

Dave took one last look at him, and slipped the business card into his jeans pocket.


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER ONE**

**2025**

After leaving the elevator, Kurt turned the key in the lock and pushed the front door with his elbow. He had a couple of folders of drafts and documents in his hands, and he held his cell phone between his shoulder and his head.

"Isabelle seemed excited about the interview. She wants to see you tomorrow morning to discuss the details together."

Madeleine's crystalline laughter could be heard though the speaker. "Fantastic. I just received the confirmation that I was waiting for by email."

_"Shit!"_ Kurt exclaimed, when a dozen of papers slipped from the briefcase and spread on the floor.

"Hey, I thought it was good news," said Maddie, with a confused tone.

Kurt placed the keys and the rest of the papers on the white marble foyer table and grabbed the phone more comfortably. "No, no, it's wonderful news, really. I just lost my balance. We'll talk tomorrow about the rest, okay?"

The two exchanged goodbyes. Kurt let out a tired sigh followed by some cussing and gathered papers from the floor. He quickly checked that everything was in order and took off his coat and sunglasses, and then exchanged his shoes for a pair of comfortable slippers.

The clock showed eight o'clock. Kurt hoped that Tracy hadn't yet fallen asleep. He walked down the hall on tiptoes and heard the loving voice of Grace, their babysitter, from the partially opened door of Tracy's room, along with the more lively one of his daughter.

He opened the door quietly, noticing Grace sitting on the armchair, knitting, and Tracy lying on her stomach on the floor, with a red wax crayon held between her fingers. In front of her was a cute drawing of two cats, one of them with a crimson bow, which she was working to perfect. She noticed him immediately, and her eyes lit up.

"Daddy!" Tracy stood up and ran into Kurt's arms. He stroked her dark brown hair. She wore two untidy braids that Kurt loved to do for her every morning before taking her to kindergarten. "I missed you," she told him, rubbing her face on his white shirt. Kurt knelt down to the little girl's height and kissed her forehead.

"I missed you too, honey. Hi, Grace," he said, turning to the woman in front of him.

The woman, with dyed blond hair and eyeglasses, smoothed her dress and approached him. "Welcome back,,Kurt. We had a nice day, and Tracy decided to draw kittens. We saw two of them while coming back from kindergarten, didn't we?"

Tracy nodded, and ran to get the drawing, showing it to Kurt. "She," the girl pointed to the gray female cat with the red bow, "is called Belle. And he is Choco because he is the same color as chocolate. He's a friend of Tubby," she said, pointing to the other cat, which was a little larger than the first one, but darker brown with white paws.

Kurt laughed tenderly, thinking of Brittany and Santana's overweight cat, whom Tracy loved so much. "Oh," he replied. "And how did Choco and Tubby meet?"

"They went to the same school, but Tubby always wanted to play with Choco's toys and he didn't like it, so they don't talk much anymore."

"I hope they make up soon." Kurt straightened her sweater, which had pull up her stomach as the girl stood up. He undid her braids and ran his hand through her brown hair, letting it hang loose down her back.

"I hope so too, but Tubby is too lazy to apologize."

Grace, who had prepared her bag in the meantime, hugged Tracy. "See you tomorrow, little one. Be good."

The little girl returned the embrace, and grabbed Grace's finger, weaving it with her own. "I promise."

Kurt took the drawing from her hand. It was a little crumpled, but he managed to prop it up on the bedside table near Tracy's bed.

"I'm going to walk Grace to the door. Meanwhile, put on your pajamas." Tracy sat down and began to take off her stockings.

Once they reached the doorway, Kurt handed Grace her coat. "Thank you for everything," he said with a grateful smile.

She put a hand on his shoulder. "She is a lovely child, Kurt– and very smart. We learned a poem, which she has to recite at kindergarten tomorrow. She is very sure of herself, and it didn't take her long to memorize it." She thoughtfully put a finger to her lip. "I cooked macaroni and cheese. It's in the oven. Should be enough for both of you. I wanted her to eat before, but she preferred to wait for you and keep drawing."

Kurt could only be proud. Tracy had proved herself very talented, despite being only five years old. She liked singing, making up stories, and drawing. In her looks and personality, the union of Rachel, her birth mother, and Blaine could be seen, but with a lot more modesty.

In kindergarten she was praised for the natural ease with which she made friends and for her innate creativity. She knew how to adapt to situations and liked the company of others. Kurt tried to nurture these qualities by creating imaginary characters with her, by teaching her to write and read, by simply spending time talking with her, and through asking questions and urging her to look for answers. Tracy learned quickly, even if sometimes she only copied the letters as if they were drawings.

"She's always had a good memory," Kurt said, remembering how Tracy, only a few months earlier, had been able to learn the numbers from one to twenty, as if they were a nursery rhyme.

"It's true. And she's really excited about Thanksgiving. She hasn't been talking about anything else."

"She loves singing. She's very excited to perform in front of everyone."

Grace put on her coat, scarf, and gloves. "She is a little star, no doubt." The woman had a delicate, persuasive tone of voice, and her appearance resembled a fairytale character. She loved pink and jewels, and she still wore her wedding band, despite having been widowed years before. She was a good-looking woman, but she could not have children and had never remarried after her husband's death.

It had been difficult for Kurt and Blaine to find a babysitter who satisfied both of their requirements. Kurt wanted someone who had the proper references and who inspired confidence, while Blaine also hoped for a refined woman, with a medium-high cultural level. Grace was a well-off, middle-aged woman who loved being with children and had a very respectable resume. She was a charming lady, who was polite and affectionate, but also very motherly and classy. Tracy had grown fond of her right away, and she loved when Grace read fairytales or taught her to cook.

"See you tomorrow, Grace. Thanks again."

The woman smiled at him.

Kurt closed the door and locked it by turning the key. He checked a second time that there was nothing out of place and turned up the heat.

He returned to Tracy, who was wearing white pajamas with frogs, paired with warm rabbit-shaped slippers. She was looking at a picture book of _Sleeping Beauty_. The clothes she had worn during the day, a pink sweater and a pair of jeans with heart-shaped pockets, were folded on the bed. Not perfectly, but Kurt was glad she tried.

A part of him, hidden deep inside, wanted Tracy to be totally dependent on him, like years before, when she needed to be fed, dressed, and washed. He had an underlying fear of losing her and seeing her grow up too soon.

He knew how selfish these thoughts were, so he acted contrary to them and tried to teach Tracy to be independent. He had her keep room orderly, fold her clothes, and get her backpack ready to take to kindergarten. Unfortunately, he could not always maintain these routines, and oftentimes Tracy fell asleep in Kurt's arms before she was even wearing her pajamas. On those occasions, it was Kurt who did everything for her. He changed her and put her to bed, following the desires of his subconscious, which wanted her to be a child forever.

"I've read that book to you a million times," Kurt laughed, moving closer.

Tracy clutched the book to her chest, as she tried to protect it. "I like it a lot. Will you read it for me before bedtime?"

Kurt kissed her head, nodding. "Sure, but first we have to eat the macaroni that Grace cooked."

He sat down next to her, and she laid her legs across Kurt's lap. "This is a really nice foot," Kurt said, using a low, low voice and trying to hold back his laughter. "What can we do with it?"

Tracy clutched her stomach and laughed loudly. "No, Tickle Monster! Don't hurt me!"

Kurt grabbed Tracy's foot and tickled it with just his fingertips. It didn't take long for the her to laugh and kick, trying to break free.

They played for a few minutes, then he told her to go to the kitchen.

"I folded my clothes, Daddy. Did you see? Can I have pancakes?"

She looked at him with those wide-open big, dark eyes, and Kurt knew it would be too hard to say no.

**2020**

_The birth of Tracy went smooth, more than they had hoped for._

_Jesse and Blaine still looked __as__ pale __as __ghosts, while Kurt had held Rachel's hand and talked her __throughout__ the whole ordeal. It had lasted twelve long hours, but they were all glad there __were no complications._

_Jesse was now caressing Rachel's hair, as she held Tracy in her arms. The baby was dozing on the softness of her breast, and she sighed. Kurt and Blaine were awed by the beauty and perfection of the scene, so similar to a Renaissance painting._

_Rachel had a sweaty forehead, and her hair __was__ tied __back__ with a __hair band.__She was exhausted but happy, and she felt more alive than she ever __had__. It was incredible, she thought, how that tiny baby was alive because of her._

_She had to __s__low down her working schedule a lot during the pregnancy, and at times she questioned her decision to help Kurt and Blaine __to have __a child, but now that Tracy was safe and healthy in her arms she thought it was all worth it._

_"Look, Tracy," Rachel whispered, bringing her face close to the baby's ear. "Those are your daddies. I have two daddies too, you know?"_

_Tracy made an adorable sound, and Blaine covered his mouth. He approached them first and touched his daughter's tiny nose with the tip of his finger. Welcome to the world, Tracy Hummel-Anderson." _

_Rachel smiled, very fatigued, with noticeable dark circles and a paler complexion._

_Blaine's eyes were wet with tears. She __made__ more cute sounds, as if she wanted to laugh but didn't know yet how. "I __w__ould do anything for her__.__ I love her so much__,__Kurt ... " Blaine turned to __Kurt,__ who was __standing still__, in silence_

_Blaine took a few steps towards Kurt with her in his arms, which allowed Kurt to see__ Tracy up close, a small bundle wrapped in a pink blanket. Blaine put her in Kurt's arms, and he began to rock her, as if he knew the baby would like it. He gave his finger to her, and she tight__ened__her__ grip on it as a reflex. Kurt cried, as if the emotions he had held back were finally free, flow__ing__ into him like a river in flood and leaving him at the mercy of them. Of new sensations and __only__ words too ordinary, too superficial, to be able to describe them. At the mercy of a love so great as __to be__ frightening. __O__f a joy profound enough to make him tear up._

_He stroked Tracy's little face and admired her features. __A few__ dark hairs sprouted from her head__.__H__er nose was the smallest Kurt had ever seen__. Her__ skin was still red, __and slightly purplish__. Tracy's eyes reminded him of Blaine's, in shape, in__ color__, brown with green __flecks__, and in __her__ thick eyelashes. There was not much of Kurt, of his fair skin and his blue eyes in __Tracy's features__, yet he __saw himself reflected __in her, __like __a spell._

_Different blood flowed in their veins, but Tracy was a part of him. The beat of their hearts, the air that entered their lungs, her small hand clasped to one of his finger__s – as__ if they could not exist without each other._

_Through his tears, he thought, __"I'll never leave you."_

_Tracy closed her eyes again and fell asleep in Kurt's arms. He squeezed her gently, carefully holding her head with his hand._

_The __nurses came in to__ take Tracy for the newborn screenings. __Within a__ few minutes, Kurt was already missing her._

_Tracy __knew nothing of evil,__ o__f__ suffering, or sadness. There was only __the__ pure need for love inside her._

_It was __touching__ in a way he couldn't explain._

_Blaine leaned his face against __Kurt's__ shoulder. "She is beautiful," he whispered, and Kurt could do nothing but nod, __still __crying._

_"She's perfect."_

**2025**

Kurt opened the refrigerator and took out two eggs and a carton of milk. He added them to flour and sugar and began mixing by hand with a wooden spoon. Tracy fiddled with her fork, bringing the macaroni she had previously smashed to her mouth.

"You know that I don't like it when you play with food," he told her firmly. Tracy looked at him guilty, but naughty. She knew very well that Kurt wouldn't really get angry at her, and sometimes she took advantage of it. "They look like insects," she said, staring at the half-empty plate and twirling the fork in the sauce.

Kurt approached her and kissed her head. "We're lucky they aren't really insects, and they look more like cashews to me."

They looked at each other and they both burst out laughing.

Kurt took a skillet and warmed it on the stove. "You can't eat pancakes if you don't finish the whole dish."

Tracy started eating faster. "I want them, but I'm not that hungry because Karen brought chocolate cookies for her birthday, and I ate five of them."

Kurt pretended to be upset. "You really eat too many sweets," he concluded, shaking his head. "Maybe I shouldn't be making pancakes for you." Out of the corner of his eye, he watched her pounce on him, the fork still clutched in her hand.

"Please, Daddy!" She grabbed his shirt, trying to look taller on tiptoes.

Kurt tried to keep a serious expression, but he had to turn away from her, to not be discovered. "I'm still not sure. How will you convince me?" He looked at her with a raised eyebrow, holding back a smile.

Tracy looked thoughtful, her hand put to her chin. "I can read something for you."

Kurt broke into a warm smile, as Tracy brought her knuckles to her mouth, biting them a little with her baby teeth. "You win, but only this time." Kurt approached the table and grabbed the bowl containing the pancake mixture.

Tracy grabbed him by the pants, and he looked at her quizzically.

"Something wrong?"

The girl told him to sit still and she posed, standing in the middle of the kitchen. "I need you to listen to something."

Kurt remembered the poem Grace had told him about that Tracy had learned quickly. He would have tried to get her to recite it before bedtime, threatening her with tickling, but he was proud to see that there was no need for it and that Tracy was sure of her abilities.

Kurt had been a silent child, especially after his mother died. His natural shyness had turned into childhood depression in those years, and only his father's tenacity and unconditional love had helped him open up again to the world and concentrate on the future, rather than living in the dark memories of the past.

Even when questioned by teachers, Kurt remained silent and couldn't look anyone in the eye, as if he were afraid he'd cry first glance. He avoided any kind of physical contact, even a simple handshake. His dad was the only one he was really open with. They had tea parties and Kurt made him watch musicals and Disney movies. That lasted until around middle school, when he started to imagine himself in a bigger city, making his dreams come true.

Tracy was different. She liked company, and making friends was natural to her. She loved to be praised and pampered and to be the center of attention.

The girl cleared her throat, and recited:

_There was a little turtle._

_He lived in a box._

_He swam in a puddle._

_He climbed on the rocks._

_He snapped at a mosquito._

_He snapped at a flea._

_He snapped at a minnow._

_And he snapped at me._

_He caught the mosquito._

_He caught the flea._

_He caught the minnow-_

_But he didn't catch me!_

Kurt came up to her and hugged her to his chest, moving her bangs and kissing her forehead. "You were very good, my darling."

The girl laughed, but tried to free herself.

"Daddy, I can't breathe."

"Sorry. Sorry." He loosened his grip and wiped his eyes, hoping that Tracy would not notice that moment of emotion.

She had a pink flush to her cheeks, and a hint of shyness was painted in her eyes. "Did you really like it?" She held her hands behind her back, and moved her foot back and forth, waiting.

Kurt added a pinch of cocoa to the bowl, not too much to make the mixture bitter but enough to give it the chocolate flavor that Tracy loved. "Not only did I like it," he said, using the sweetest tone possible. "I also think you will be the best tomorrow."

Tracy clapped her hand and hugged him. "Thanks, Daddy." She remained silent for a few seconds, sat down at the table, and quickly ate the last macaroni left on her plate, now chilled. She looked thoughtful, like she wanted to say something, but wasn't sure how.

Kurt turned the first pancake over, looking at her to make sure she was okay. "Everything good?" he asked, opening a cupboard and pulling out a blue ceramic plate.

She nodded. "Can I call Papa on Skype and have him listen to the poem?" She looked at the kitchen clock, although she still couldn't tell time.

Kurt sighed, approaching her.

Blaine might have been too busy to answer, and Kurt preferred to schedule their video calls early, so as not to hurt Tracy.

At first they had handled the situation in a different, more spontaneous way, but with Blaine's career taking off, this had no longer been possible. Blaine had a complicated schedule to keep, meetings with fans, interviews, photo shoots, and often it was not possible for him to be a full-time father, as he would have liked. Even Kurt's relationship with Rachel had become more distant, and her presence in New York more sporadic, after the start of the tour that had seen her and Blaine team up in the largest cities of the United States. Tracy always spoke with pride about Blaine, and her eyes sparkled when she saw a picture of him in a magazine, but she couldn't pretend she wasn't disappointed when he couldn't answer her calls or spend time with her.

"Maybe Papa is already sleeping. We will call him tomorrow after you wake up."

He wasn't sure what Blaine's schedule was for the next day. They had scheduled a video call in two days, but he would have to do whatever he could to get him to talk to Tracy.

"Okay." Tracy had a tired smile that was interrupted by a yawn.

Kurt hoped she wasn't too sad. He handed her a plate with three still-hot pancakes, with a pat of butter and a trickle of maple syrup.

The girl's face became brighter.

He sat down next to her, cutting the pancakes into small pieces. "Don't eat too fast. Afterwards, go brush your teeth."

**2023**

_"I ... I can't," Blaine whispered. "Not anymore."__ He was trembling, slumped on the ground, his face streaked with tears and his arms tight around his body, as if a threat loomed over him. The shards of a broken plate were scattered between their figures. _

_Kurt remained motionless, his heart in his throat. He took a step, but was interrupted by a strangled sob, and could not get too close._

_"Everything is wrong..."_

_They both knew that the romantic veneer of their first love, which had united them for a long time, had now started to peel showing the true nature of their relationship, but admitting it out loud would have been like giving in to failure. _

_Kurt and Blaine were both perfectionists, albeit in distinct ways, and getting married very young had strengthened their expectation of a timeless feeling that would hold steadfast in the face of all adversities like a predestined bond that could not be broken. Accepting defeat would change their lives, beliefs, and ideals._

_Yet that break was evident, like the gash in an old, no longer wearable dress._

_Their increasingly sporadic touches showed how they not longer desired to be close. And a sense of dissatisfaction permeated their lives, quarrels that no longer ended in caresses and confessions of love, but only with silences that often lasted entire days._

_"You have to tell me what happened," Kurt pleaded, but a part of him already knew it. He found confirmation in Blaine's serious gaze that avoided his own, in his dilated pupils, in his uninterrupted crying. Kurt knew what happened, but he was afraid to talk about it. He tried to exorcise that demon, taking one step towards the other. He made his way by treading on the ceramic shreds with his slippers, but he didn't touch Blaine, as if he were afraid of his sudden reaction. "You have to tell me ..." he said again, and this time his voice dragged, resembling a plea._

_"I can't take it anymore, Kurt." Blaine swallowed, trying to get his breath back. This time he stared at Kurt with a guilty expression._

_Kurt found his hypotheses confirmed. "Who was he? And don't tell me it doesn't matter because it sure as hell matters!" Anger made him tremble, and he had to grab the fabric of his pants and squeeze it between his fingers. He grabbed a rag and threw it at Blaine. "Who. Was. He." He would have screamed and maybe slapped him, if the memory of his daughter, who slept nearby, had not forced him to calm down. He considered himself lucky that Tracy had not already woken up after the plate shattered._

_Blaine shook his head several times and held his face in his hands. "I don't know who he was. I didn't want to do it. We ... we just touched each other."_

_Kurt let out an ironic laugh, full of resentment. "Do you think that changes anything?" He experienced a strong feeling of disgust, imagining his husband's hands caressing another man's bare skin. Those lips he knew, resting on those of an unknown shadow with no name or face. _

_He wondered when it had happened, but the fear of finding out that the cheating was before the last time he slept with Blaine made him physically sick._

_Blaine stared at an unspecified point on the wall, feeling defeated. "No," he concluded. "I don't think it changes anything."_

_Kurt wiped his eyes, but his revulsion pushed him away. Being physically next to Blaine made him feel dirty. "I don't know what you can do to be forgiven by me. I don't want to forgive you, Blaine. I'm disgusted. How could you do that again to me? After all those promises! How could I ever trust you?! All of you can think about – damn, all you could ever think about – were your own needs!"_

_He didn't know if he would ever be able to sleep in the same bed with him, if he could ever laugh with him as he once did, if he would ever be ready to share a semblance of everyday life with him – even if it was fake._

_It was all in pieces._

_"I don't think you should forgive me."_

_With those words, Kurt's anger dissipated, as if he had been doused with ice water. "Wha - what did you say?" he asked in a thin, barely audible voice. _

_He noticed, looking inside himself, that the romantic love he once felt towards Blaine had dissipated, and only a vague memory of it remained. It would have been easy to use another cheating episode as an excuse, but it would have been a lie. As much as that disgusted every fiber of his being, he hadn't been in love with Blaine in years._

_He loved Blaine, but he was no longer in love with him._

_It had been a gradual change, which had evolved over time but which both had preferred to ignore._

_"I don't think you should forgive me, Kurt," Blaine said. "What I did is unfair, but it happened because I'm unhappy."_

_Oh, Blaine and his freaking unhappiness. First time it was lon__e__liness._

_Kurt was unhappy too, but he never had the desire to jump into someone else's bed._

_He hated Blaine and himself too. Their daughter was often the only reason he didn't fall into depression and self-loathing. He wanted to be enough, but he never was. Not for Blaine. And he __continued __trying, and trying, all by himself, to keep their relationship from crumbling._

_He was emotionally exhausted._

_There was a strange resignation painted on Blaine's face, as if he were just realizing a conclusion he had long since come to. Kurt had never seen him so calm, and this infuriated him even more._

_The fact that he was willing to seek a solution once again, but Blaine dismissed everything with a shrug._

_"Look at me, Blaine," he ordered him firmly. Blaine finally met his gaze, but Kurt saw no fear or despair._

_"Do you think this is easy for me?" he kept going. "All I wanted was your help to make this work. But you were always busy doing somet__h__ing better. We have a daughter, or did you already forget about her?"_

_An image formed in Kurt's mind. That of a crying three-year-old girl who called for her Papa. His unhappiness, or Blaine's, went into the background. It was no longer about the break up of two teenagers. This was a divorce of two men with a daughter._

_This made everything terribly complicated, and Kurt felt a primal terror, which __seeped__ right into his bones._

_"I know," Blaine replied, finally standing back up. _

_They were facing each other. Kurt wanted to run away, shut himself in the bathroom, pinch himself, and wake up in their bed, like after a bad dream._

"_We have to end it here, for Tracy too. We both deserve to be happy, and she deserves to grow up in a peaceful environment, without all this resentment and frustration. I feel like I'm in a cage, Kurt, like I'm going crazy. And don't tell me you don't feel the same." _

_Kurt started to cry, knowing that this particular moment would mark their breaking point. It was a chapter that had come to an end, something that would permanently change his life, and that of Tracy. He felt a strong sense of guilt when a feeling of relief rushed through him, as if an enormous weight had been __lifted __from his shoulders._

_He knew it was over, and he didn't have the strength or desire to change th__at__ fact._

_Blaine put a hand on his shoulder, and Kurt let himself be touched, despite not wanting any physical contact from him. It had the bitter taste of a farewell, __which__ he was unable to shake off. _

"_I feel happy when I perform, and that's what I want to focus on. I really want to try."_

_Kurt let out a sad and sarcastic laugh. "So you're leaving me for the spotlight? How surprising." _

_Blaine's gaze softened, and his tone of voice also became more affectionate. "This doesn't change the fact that you are my family, and I don't regret what we've been through. I certainly don't regret having Tracy. You will always be a priority. I just want to try to be happy, and I think you too __have to__ find your own happiness."_

_"After you destroyed me," thought Kurt, this time moving Blaine's hand away._ _"You need to be gone in the morning."_

_Blaine nodded, and kissed Kurt's cheek. _

_Kurt ran to the bathroom and em__t__pied his stomach._

**2025**

"The prince entered the bedroom at the top of the tower and was amazed at the beauty of Princess Aurora. He kissed her on the lips, and she opened her eyes. Their love had broken the witch's spell."Kurt pushed a strand of hair away from his sleeping daughter's face and closed the book after saying the last words. _"_And they all lived happily ever after_,_" he whispered.

Tracy was breathing deeply, hugging her favorite stuffed rabbit. He arranged the blanket for her and couldn't help but think of how much she had grown, transforming herself in height and appearance, without him realizing it.

She had delicate features, a rounded face and long brown hair like Rachel's. Kurt could see Blaine's shadow in her, in her eyes - of the same shape and color - and in the curve and proportion of her lips. She was slender, but had long legs and a sweet smile, always sparkling and full of life.

Kurt kissed her forehead, and she let out a sigh in her sleep, which made him smile fondly.

"Sleep well, my little one," he murmured, before turning off the light, leaving a smaller one near Tracy's bed on, and closing the door behind him.

**2023**

_"I don't know what to do." Kurt wiped his eyes, looking at Tracy sitting on the sofa next to Brittany, who was showing her photos of herself as a child. _

_She was holding a big album in her hands, and Tracy nodded, curious. _

_"I can't make her feel better."_

_Santana rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. "She's just adjusting to the idea. When my abuelo died I was a little older than she was, and even I couldn't stop crying."_

_Something about Kurt snapped, and he used an irritated tone directed to her, as if Santana had hit him in a sensitive spot. "Blaine isn't dead!"_

_Brittany glanced at both of them, and Santana accompanied Kurt to a more secluded corner. _

_"I'm sorry," he said. "I don't know what's wrong with me."_

_She invited him to sit down, and pulled her long black hair into a ponytail, reminiscent of her cheerleader days. She wore a beige t-shirt with the logo of a hockey team and a pair of shorts that left her thighs uncovered. _

_"You should calm down, first off. I'll make you a cup of tea, even if you seem to need a Scotch a lot more."_

_She put some water in a cute cow __themed __kettle on to boil._

_Kurt looked around. The kitchen was decorated with a large clock in the shape of a cat, which meowed at the stroke of every hour. A bizarre-shaped vase had been placed on the table, similar to a fish with a wide-open mouth, from which elegant hydrangeas sprouted with shades of midnight blue and purple. Brittany's touch could be seen everywhere, while Santana was more traditional with her gray and black tones. Their home was a complete union of both their characters, so different yet harmonizing._

_"You're right," Kurt replied, holding his face in his hands. "I just wish it was easier."_

_Santana sat next to him and looked him in the eye. A wave of intimidation passed through Kurt. "Listen to me, Lady Lips," she said. "I'm not going to repeat this."_

_Kurt could see his blue eyes reflected in hers. He expected to be judged, but found only blind support, something quite unusual for Santana. "Being a parent is not an easy task, and I think you are doing well. Tracy is an adorable little girl. She is the biological daughter of Rachel Berry and Blaine Anderson, but I have never heard her scream the songs of _West Side Story_, or behave like an irritating diva. I think you did a great job, and even if things don't work anymore between you and Blaine – that doesn't make you a bad parent."_

_Kurt was amazed. Santana's emotional side and her compliments, were usually reserved for Brittany, while anyone else who knew her, including him, rarely heard anything that wasn't filled with sarcasm. Kurt had lived with her and Rachel for a year, between ups and downs, theirs was a love-hate relationship, littered with childish skirmishes and insults screamed at each other without really thinking. _

_"Do - Do you really think so?"_

_Santana got up and poured the contents of the kettle into a black and white patterned cup, which resembled a matching cow. "I'm not going to repeat myself, Hummel," she said again, opening a box of tea bags. "Lemon, berries, or ginger?" She showed him the open box, the sachets arranged in three neat rows. Kurt wiped his eyes. "Ginger." _

_The cow cup was placed in front of him, with the tea bag floating inside. Santana sat down again. "Now I want you to take a deep breath because when you cry you make too many irritating noises for my taste, and Britt would be angry if I kicked you out." Kurt nodded, testing the tea. It was warm, but not overly __so__, and Kurt loved its spicy, somewhat peculiar flavor._

_"I'm sorry about before," he admitted. _

_Santana sighed, as she opened a can of Coke that she had taken from one of the six-packs she kept under the table. "I don't care about the apology. I want to fix this and go to sleep, if you don't mind. You came to us for a reason, didn't you? " _

_"For Brittany," Kurt whispered. "Tracy loves her, and I thought being with her would make her feel better." _

_Santana smiled. "Finish drinking your tea and __let's go__ see. You are about to witness some magic." _

_Kurt started to get up. "What magic?" _

_She leaned around the doorway that connected the kitchen to the living room and motioned for him to come closer which he did carefully._

_Brittany's and Tracy's voices were barely audible. "Listen carefully," Santana said, bringing her forefinger to her lips. _

_Kurt strained his ear and heard Tracy's crystalline laughter. He had missed that sound terribly._

_For days, she had done nothing but cry, asking about Blaine. They had planned family outings together, but they only made the girl happy until the moment of separation._

_After the divorce, Blaine had rented an apartment in Queens and had agreed that Kurt would take care of Tracy full time because of his more stable hours._

_Blaine had recently been cast in a Broadway production written by an emerging screenwriter, who saw him as Rachel's romantic partner. He was working his way up, and __enjoyed __performing pop songs in small independent concerts in various theaters. His friendship with Rachel, which the newspapers often reported about, was helping him incredibly in his climb to success. Kurt could only be happy for him, even if this professional triumph considerably diminished the time that Blaine had available for Tracy. He wasn't doing it on purpose, and he tried to dedicate every minute of his free time to her, but his constant commitments made the situation even more complicated._

_Kurt felt exhausted, as if he had a fever and hadn't slept for days._

_Tracy pointed with her finger to a faded photo of a blonde girl in pink shorts, holding a striped brown kitten in her arms, who was trying to free itself from her embrace by pushing with its front paws._

_"Oh," Brittany exclaimed in surprise. "Lord Tubbington was only a few months old. I knew he was going to be a rebellious cat, so I started giving him some chocolate to make him sweeter." She shrugged, and covered Tracy's legs with a blanket. She wore long-sleeved purple pajamas, with penguins climbing on small ice cubes._

_Tracy chuckled. "I'd like to have a cat," she said._

_As she continued to trace the photo with her fingers, her gaze became sad and thoughtful. "Maybe Papa went away because I'm not a good girl, although Daddy says that's not true. I cry a lot and I don't like to eat vegetables."_

_Brittany opened her arms. "Come here," she said, and Tracy snuggled close to her, resting her head on Brittany's chest. She caressed her hair and kissed her head. "Even Lord Tubbington missed his mommy and daddy at the beginning."_

_Tracy looked at her in surprise. "Really?"_

_Brittany nodded. "He thought they weren't happy with him or something. He was upset because he believed they didn't love him. But do you know what happened?"_

_"What?" she asked, sitting up. She grabbed Brittany's pajamas with her little hand, making her laugh._

"_Lord Tubbington's daddy was a great actor, a famous one, like the ones on TV. He couldn't be at home everyday because he had to make movies in a lot of far away countries. He once dedicated one to Lord Tubbington." She laughed. "But despite his busy schedule, when he had time he knocked on our door because he couldn't stay away from Lord Tubbington for too long."_

_Tracy looked at her with wide eyes, and a whole world opened up to her mind's eyes. She saw cats holding cameras in their paws, shining spotlights everywhere, and a cat, with a top hat and a big mustache, who signed autographs and was always surrounded by other famous cats, but who felt too lonely so he knocked on Brittany's door to say goodnight to Lord Tubbington. "Did he still love him?" Tracy asked._

_Brittany brought her face close to Tracy's and winked at her. "I have never seen anyone love their child like him. I was almost jealous. Even when Lord Tubbigton joined a motorcycle gang, his daddy was on his side." This time Tracy laughed heartily, imagining Brittany's fat cat riding a motorcycle. "What about his mommy?" _

_"Look," Brittany replied, grabbing the photo album again and leafing through it carefully. She showed Tracy a photo of a black and white cat, close to Lord Tubbington, lying next to him. "This is his mommy. I believe she is a princess or a duchess. She was also very busy, but she wrote him letters every day, and once she ran away from her castle to visit us. They spent all day in front of the TV watching soap operas."_

_"She's smaller than him," said Tracy, laughing. Brittany did not lose her seriousness, as she showed Tracy a photo on the opposite page, which showed her offering a chocolate bar to Lord Tubbington, who seemed to ignore her completely, too busy dozing. "His chocolate diet had already started, and he has always been too lazy to exercise."_

_Tracy grabbed a strand of Brittany's blond hair, which cascaded her shoulders like waves. They were soft, and she liked to touch them. "Papa took me to the cinema, and we ate a lot of popcorn. Daddy was angry because then I had a stomachache. But I had so much fun."_

_Brittany held her tightly, and the girl threw her arms around her neck. "Maybe they love you even more than Lord Tubbington's parents. I remember once they took a whole afternoon just to decide what to buy for your first birthday."_

_Tracy's gaze brightened. "Thanks, Aunt Brittany. I love you." _

_She kissed Tracy's cheek, which smelled of fragrant soap. "I love you too."_

_She opened the album to one of the last pages, which showed her next to Santana with their respective families. Brittany's younger sister looked like her like a doppelganger._

_"I'll show you one last thing."_

_She gestured for Tracy to look at a photo of Blaine and Kurt, sitting on the same sofa where she was with Brittany at the time._

_It had been taken in the winter, because they both wore warm clothes, Blaine a checkered sweater and Kurt a high-necked black and white one. It seemed they hadn't noticed the camera, __too caught up in__ looking at a baby wrapped in a blanket, one with the design of a teddy bear wearing a ballerina tutu. The infant's face could be seen as she rested in Blaine's arms while Kurt fed her a bottle of milk. _

_Tracy was enchanted looking at those faces that she knew so well, in that intimate moment, which she could not remember. _

_"You were just a few months old," said Brittany. "I've known your dads for a long time, but I've never seen them so happy."_

_Tracy remained silent, staring at that photo with shining eyes. __H__er expression finally relaxed, and her heart was fee__ling__ light for the first time in several weeks._

_It was no longer just words. It wasn't Daddy or Papa saying that they loved her. She could see it with her own eyes._

_The urge to sing came back to her, but suddenly she felt too tired, and she fell asleep in Brittany's arms._

_Kurt watched the scene with Santana nearby. He had listened to their words and seen Tracy's reactions._

_He thought it was impossible, that he was imagining it._

_Tracy had not slept that peacefully in weeks and could only do so in Kurt's bed while being cuddled with __his__ cell phone near her ear and Blaine's voice speaking to her. She had lost her natural curiosity, and had closed in on herself. Kurt could only keep her interest during their walks or when they fed the ducks in Central Park, but it was still a fleeting happiness, which disappeared a few hours later when they returned home._

_The brunette looked at him with raised eyebrow. "Did you see?" She said. "Magic."_

_Tracy had laughed. She laughed and fell asleep normally, as she had before the divorce. He wiped his eyes, still unable to believe it._

_"My wife, Lady Lips__,__" Santana shrugged. "Nobody can resist her."_

_**2025**_

After brushing his teeth, Kurt turned on the lights in his bedroom and opened the imposing window that opened onto a small balcony, which was used on rare summer occasions. Taking a deep breath of the cold late November air, he felt invigorated, like after a cup of coffee.

In the distance, he could hear the noise of traffic, and the slightly drunken laughs that came from the Italian restaurant on the opposite side of the street.

He lived in an apartment on the Upper East Side in Manhattan that he and Blaine had bought after Kurt's rise to the _Vogue_ editorial office and with the financial help of Blaine's family. They had opted for a bright apartment, with a long corridor that separated the living and sleeping areas, consisting of three bedrooms, one of which was used for occasional visits by Burt and Carole, Blaine's parents, or Blaine himself.

He left the window open, and headed toward the large closet, which covered the entire right wall of the room. His image was reflected in the glass of a rectangular, full-length mirror.

His hair was little disheveled, but overall he was satisfied with his appearance.

After divorcing Blaine, Kurt started a long journey to reach self-acceptance and visited a therapist twice a week. It helped accepting that he was never going to be perfect, but he always did the best he could, therefore he could be proud of his achievements. He also discovered dark sides of his previous relationship with Blaine that were previously unknown, and realized how toxic they had been. Blaine often controlled and manipulated him in ways so subtle that Kurt himself had never noticed, but that slowly killed his whole being. He was more aware of maintaining his boundaries and was learning to love himself as much as others.

Blaine worked on himself too. Once he had called Kurt in the middle of the night in tears, actually apologizing about things from their past. He was still Blaine – self-centered, attention-seeking Blaine – but he was more careful with his behavior, and Kurt was no longer afraid to tell him when he was acting like a spoiled brat.

He undid his shirt and pulled off his pants. Then after folding his clothes, he placed them on a vintage cobalt armchair. He put on his pajamas and let himself fall onto the queen bed, which had floral-patterned sheets.

On the bedside table, Kurt had a reading lamp, a bouquet of fresh flowers, and a table clock next to three framed photos. One of them portrayed him on the day of Tracy's birth, sitting on the hospital bed next to Rachel with baby Tracy in his arms.

Rachel was leaning towards him, looking tenderly at the face of the newborn. Kurt had swollen eyes and was wearing not-so-stylish clothes that he had thrown on randomly in the rush to leave the house. It didn't do justice to his physical appearance or his sense of style, but if Kurt had to save only one photograph during a catastrophic event, it would have been that one.

The second image depicted the marriage of Burt and Elizabeth Hummel, his parents.

It was black and white, and his father had an almost frightened and embarrassed expression in his stiffness. He was wearing a dark tuxedo, and he still had thick, light brown hair. His mother was slender, wearing a white gown and holding a bouquet of roses in her hands. Unlike Burt, Elizabeth smiled sweetly and looked younger than her twenty-two years of age, almost like a teenager at her prom, rather than a bride.

Kurt grabbed the third frame. He smiled back at his own face, relaxed in the photo, standing next to a giraffe with Tracy on his shoulders. She stretched her chubby arm out to pet the animal. Blaine was at his side, holding a big ice cream cone.

He remembered the warm sun of that summer afternoon, the smell of dirt and grass that permeated the zoo and Tracy crying because she wanted to adopt a goat with whom she had made friends after feeding it some hay. They had bought her ice cream to distract her, and Blaine had wanted one too, one so big that Kurt had to help him finish it. It had been a happy period of his life, almost idyllic in its simplicity, but it hid fears, remorse, and the feeling that it would not last forever.

Kurt put the photograph away, and grabbed his cell phone.

His body was overcome by a feeling of nostalgia, and slight solitude.

He searched for Blaine's name, and after a moment of indecision, decided that he wanted to hear his voice.

The phone rang once, twice, three times, when Kurt heard Blaine's voice on the other side, muffled by the chatter of what seemed to be a party. There was laughter and an old Katy Perry song playing too loud in the background.

"Kurt?" The sounds faded, indicating that Blaine was looking for a more secluded spot. "Is everything all right?"

Kurt cleared his throat. "Everything's good. I put Tracy to bed and thought I'd say hello to you. Is it a bad moment?"

He imagined Blaine shaking his head, laughing to himself. "No, absolutely not. Rachel and Jesse invited me to a birthday party for a friend of hers from back during _Funny Girl._ They are all drunk on champagne, and they've started dancing. Rachel has had too much to drink. I've never seen her so crazy."

Both laughed.

"Did she still try to kiss you?"

"No, thank goodness," replied Blaine. "Luckily Jesse's here to keep her at bay. They sang an incredible duet, from _Spring Awakening_."

Kurt managed to imagine the scene.

Rachel loved to play Wendla, the sweet, innocent 14-year-old from _Spring Awakening –_ the girl with morbid sexual curiosity. She enjoyed the drama a little too much, and she liked to express intense, contrasting emotions. Her strong point had always been her voice, but she clearly enjoyed the acting as well.

"I hope you recorded everything."

Blaine laughed heartily, perhaps a little tipsy himself. "Obviously. You know me. I'll send you the video tomorrow." After a few seconds' pause, Blaine spoke again. "How's Tracy doing? I'm really excited about the Thanksgiving performance."

"You know her – she loves being on stage. She gets it from you," Kurt replied. "Are you free early tomorrow? Tracy learned a poem and really wants you to hear it. She wanted to call you tonight, but I wasn't sure you would answer, so I convinced her to be patient."

Blaine was interrupted by Rachel's voice, asking him where he had gone. "Yes, in a moment," he answered her in a low voice. "I have to go. They're getting ready to cut the cake, and I want to be in the photo. Call me tomorrow as soon as Tracy wakes up. I can't wait to hear her."

Kurt sighed and hoped Blaine was lucid enough not to forget about it later. "Perfect," he concluded. "Write it down somewhere, and say hi to Rachel."

"Will do. Talk to you tomorrow, Kurt." Blaine hurriedly replied, before ending the call without Kurt having had a chance to say goodbye.

In moments of sadness, his subconscious forced him to mull over his loneliness, to dwell on melancholy thoughts regarding needs, such as waking up and falling asleep next to someone, or sharing joy and sadness with another human being. Well, an adult human being.

It was not a matter of a physical or sexual desire, but of the lack of a profound connection, on a mental level, and mostly about giving and receiving love, platonic or otherwise.

Blaine had been the man with whom he had shared emotional intimacy with, not limited to the sexual act, and therefore those shortcomings inevitably made him think about him. It wasn't romance, but simple affection.

Kurt missed Blaine's friendship because with no one else, before or after him, had he reached the same level of connectedness. If Blaine hadn't been in Los Angeles, Kurt would have invited him to spend the evening with him. They could watch old movies and discuss their lives, while eating high-calorie sweets with a few experimental drinks, such as lime Coke. He hoped Blaine's schedule would include a few more days off after Tracy's play, because he would love to spend a day or two with him, like in the old days. Their friendship was so much more healthy and equal than their relationship or marriage ever had been, and he was really glad about that.

He got out of bed and put his cell phone on the bedside table. He rushed to the kitchen, seized by a sudden desire for a cup of hot milk. As he waited he saw, like a flash, the events of that day.

Breakfast time with Tracy, before accompanying her to kindergarten. The paperwork and the notebook where he had written his suggestions for the trends for the next spring-summer season. Lunch with Maddie, recently returned from Paris. And David.

"David," he whispered. He grabbed his wallet and took out the _Sea Pearl_ business card.

Written in pen, fairly neatly, Kurt read "_Dave K." _and a row of numbers.

His phone number.

"I need to call him," he said to himself, looking at his watch.

It was almost eleven o'clock, and phoning David at that late hour after a random meeting and not being part of each other's lives for ten years, seemed highly inappropriate. He slipped the business card between those of his other contacts and his favorite places to eat, promising himself that he would call him the next day when the noise of the milk beginning to boil grabbed his attention, pushing the thought out of his mind.

* * *

Many thanks to Elle D'Elajoie for her amazing work as beta for this chapter 3


End file.
